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For I Will Consider My Boyfriend Don

06.26.18 Posted in today's words by

For I Will Consider My Boyfriend Don
after Christopher Smart “Jubilat Agno, Fragment B: For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry”
after Chen Chen “For I Will Consider My Boyfriend Jeffrey”
By Cyn Kitchen

For I will consider my boyfriend Don
For he is a simple man with simple desires
For he can never seem to find the words for what he feels
            but reveals his heart otherwise
For the way he pats my knee over & over, one-two-three
For he calls them stupid he doesn’t understand & can’t
            figure out why the world is so needlessly complicated
For he buys treats for my cat, Pete, patiently trying to win
            the affections of a creature who loves no one.
For his practical gift-giving he prefers over roses,
            he gives what I can use
For he despises snakes & won’t even look at a photo of one
            to regard the miracle of their existence
For his hatred of the concept of sushi, so wholly repulsed he
            refuses to kiss me after I’ve eaten it
For the way he whistles when he’s happy, a magical vibrato
            that fills the air, the only whistle I can stand
For the pride he takes in a clean vehicle, the careful attention
            he pays to restore his truck to showroom sparkle
            after driving down my damned gravel road.
For firstly he drives onto the grass within reach
of the garden hose
For secondly he twists the spigot on, softens caked mud with
            a steady stream of water
For thirdly he lathers a chamois with a squirt of blue Dawn
            & massages each section at a time in wax-on, wax-off motions
            rubbing away grime.
For fourthly he grabs the hose & directs the stream
            over lathered fenders flushing white suds onto the grass.
For fifthly he moves around the truck repeating each step over
            until he’s back where he started & his truck is white once again
For sixthly he takes a bath towel, orange or pink, one he used
            after last night’s shower that he’ll launder again before
            returning it to the bathroom
For seventhly he dries a section at a time in the same order of
            washing, the same circular motions, the veins in his muscular
arms bulging
For eighthly it’s time to pay special mind to the tires, a certain spray from
            some bottle, wipe with a different towel, one from his shop,
            the black rubber a showroom sheen.
For ninthly water spots on the windows erased with microfiber
For tenthly he sweats like a horse wiping forehead on sleeve, pushing glasses
            back up his nose, exclaiming, “Ho, me!” while inspecting his work
For all his hard work brings tremendous satisfaction to him
            more than anyone
For he has, or thinks he has, a reputation to uphold
For he does not whistle as he washes
For his house is a mess, papers strung about, dishes in the sink, laundry
For what I love is his hands after years of work
not with a pen or at a keyboard or twisting the focus on a microscope
but brute force of strength & the subtle
            skill of a craftsman who knows instinctively when to strike & when
            to hold the hammer one more patient moment
For when I told him I was a train wreck reminded me he fixes trains
For the locomotion of his snoring & the satisfied growl that rises
from the back of his throat
For all of the times he came back when I pushed him away
For letting me believe in God differently than he believes in God
For being a homebody who never wants to go anywhere
For his sparkling white truck headed this way, just now,
over my brown & sloppy mud road

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